No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

She’s upset, hurt, tears bristling in her voice.

“You can’t tell me you aren’t about to get hurt,” she bites off. “How am I supposed to just let you go?”

“By remembering that you have a family to come home to, and you already had your little brush with doom,” I remind her—just as I pull up outside that home, my headlights spilling over their cozy house and the toys in the yard.

And the silhouette of the man pacing in the front window, dark against the glow of the living room lights. Doc’s familiar muscular shape pauses now and then to look through the filmy curtains.

“Look at him,” I say softly. “You really want to make him worry?”

“Like it’s okay for you to make me worry?”

“Honestly, I think you’re the only one who’d miss me,” I choke out, throat suddenly tight, before I swallow and force a smile. “Worst thing that happens is, I’ll go to jail, and then you can come bail me out and tell me what a big idiot I am. I need you to go home now. I need to not worry about you, Ember.”

“I can’t stop worrying about you.” She breathes in slowly, the air trembling in her every word. “But you’re really not going to listen, are you?”

“I can’t afford to. Not this time.”

“Then you’d better promise I’ll see you again. Promise me, Fel, so I can yell at you for whatever dumb, dangerous thing you’re about to do.”

I can’t promise that.

All I can do is pull her into a ferocious hug, ignoring the emergency brake poking my ribs between us to squeeze her so close.

My cousin.

My friend.

Whatever happens next, she’ll make sure my other friends—Libby, Clarissa, Haley, even the guys—understand.

“I have to come back for Shrub, right? Can you check on him the next day or two for me?” I ask, fighting a smile as I throw my thumb back to point at the drowsy pup in the back.

Slowly, she nods and gives me a pinky. Just like when we were little, I take it with mine, making the holy, unbreakable pinky swear promise.

It doesn’t change the tears in my eyes as I let her go and give her a gentle shove out of the car.

Once I watch her moving, tumbling into her husband’s arms, I reverse the station wagon and back out of the driveway quickly, pointing my little car at the highway.

The long, slow road eventually leads off the paved blacktop and into the valley, where the shapes of construction equipment and buildings in progress hulk against the dark. It nearly obscures the worn dirt track leading to the airstrip that used to be my father’s favorite place to spend his mornings.

Just a dusty mess now.

There’s not even a proper tower anymore, and the dry red earth has blown over the cracked tarmac until it’s barely visible. Part of me thinks of the bumpy landing Paisley’s going to have, and I can’t help a flash of vicious pleasure.

But I’ve got to focus.

I have work to do.

After concealing one of the gold bars in the tufts of dry grass growing all along the edge of the tarmac, I get back in the station wagon and send a single text with a pic attached.

The gold gleams bright like fire in my phone’s camera flash.

Want the rest? I text. Let’s play scavenger hunt. Find this piece and then find me.

Not that she’ll have to look hard.

My phone lights up in minutes with a response that I can hear in her lisping, cruel tones, Well, well, well. Well, well, WELL, you magnificent, two-faced, lying little bitch!

I’m speeding to The Nest with every ounce of blood in my veins icing over.

For the first time in my life, I won’t be happy to go to work today in those lovely walls.

The place that’s always come first in my life hits different today.

Unless a miracle happens—and when do they ever?—my quaint little café is about to become my last stand.

22

Lead Into Gold (Alaska)

When I wake up, I can’t remember where the hell I am.

Trying to focus through blinding pain feels harder than pushing a truck through solid mud.

The last thing I remember is looking for Eli—Eli—and then passing out in such brutal tension and exhaustion that it’s a fight to get my bearings. High-key adrenaline fools my body into thinking I’m waking up somewhere I haven’t been in a long time.

An active combat zone.

Sand in the air, in my nose, in my lungs, the bright sun beating down and baking me inside my gear. Hard-charging across a line anyone else would’ve abandoned a long time ago to push, push, and push again because there’s no option but to go home victorious or return in a body bag.

Fuck.

I almost roll out of bed and dive for a weapon I haven’t held in years.